He meets my eyes and nods. “Yes. They paid for silence.”
My heart pounds inside my chest.
“There’s more,” he says quietly.
He slides one last page across the desk. It’s a photo.
My breath leaves my lungs in a sharp, involuntary pull. The woman staring back at me has dark hair. Green eyes. A familiar softness to her features that doesn’t read as weakness. Only openness.
I feel something primal and violent unfurl in my chest. “She looks like Ivy,” I say.
Elliott nods. “That’s what caught my attention.”
My hands flatten on the desk.
“She was the same age Ivy is now,” he adds. “Similar build. Similar presence. The report mentions her being ‘Friendly.’ ‘Trusting.’ ‘Bright.’”
Each word lands like a blow.
I shove the chair back and stand.
This isn’t a coincidence. It’s a pattern.
“He saw Ivy,” I say slowly. “She reminded him of the girl from his past.”
Elliott doesn’t contradict me.
“He’s been circling her,” I continue. “Testing boundaries.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “And when you intervened publicly, it likely shifted his focus.”
I turn back to the photo on my desk.
The realization that hits harder than anything else so far.
I was right to be afraid. I was just afraid of the wrong thing.
I grab my phone, my fingers curling around it.
“What’s your recommendation?” I ask tightly.
His voice is steady. “Immediate safety measures. Increased surveillance. And you need to assume he will escalate.”
My blood runs cold.
“Where is Ivy right now?” he asks too quickly.
She was home when I left, but is she still there?
I check my phone. She texted me.
Ivy: Having lunch with Dad. The driver’s taking me.
My throat constricts. “She’s going to have lunch with her father,” I say.
“Hmm,” Elliott rubs his chin, a look on his face that makes me uneasy.
Something shifts in my gut. Sharp. Instinctive. Wrong.
